


In That Number

by Thingsareswinging



Category: Mass Effect, Saints Row
Genre: Crossover, F/M, French Boss, GoH Compliant, Paragon Commander Shepard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thingsareswinging/pseuds/Thingsareswinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the weeks following the induction of humanity into the greater galactic community, it was quickly discovered that the universal translators rendered the name of humanity’s home planet as something universally offensive, unprintably obscene, and, in the case of every species other than the hanar and a few more flexible elcor, extremely medically inadvisable. After weeks of increasingly heated negotiation with humanity’s diplomatic corps, it was eventually agreed that, among council races, humanity’s home planet would be referred to by the culturally-insensitive but otherwise much more dignified ‘New Earth’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“ _I remember my first time seeing a human face-to-face. She was wearing a flight suit, waving around a handgun about as technologically relevant as a stone club. She was between me and my objective, and I was in full armour, carrying an assault rifle. I told her, I think my exact words were 'put the weapon down, and you won't be harmed.'_

“ _She kicked me in the dick.”_

_-Primarch Adrien Victus, on the Relay 314 Incident._

* * *

Commander Ajax Shepard: recipient of the Purple Fleur de Lis (the highest honour available to un-canonised humans), the Bowie Knife of Valour, for extreme violence in the line of duty (ever-humble, Shepard had attempted to decline this honour, arguing that his defence of Elysium hardly counted as _extreme_ violence, but was eventually talked around by Captain Anderson), and the Genki's Head- a medal that had come with automatic beatification. Rumour had it that Shepard had been offered a chance at canonisation already, but had declined, citing 'prior commitments'.

This muttering was given some weight by the fact that the stripe on his N7 armour had mysteriously turned out red, rather than purple. When quizzed about it, he had apparently assured his superiors that he would have a word with requisitions. The red had remained, nevertheless.

Aside from this discrepancy, Ajax had, for his entire career, been nothing less than a model soldier, which those following his progress had found slightly disappointing. Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that he seemed to act more like a turian than a human at times, or, perhaps, due to it, his name was put forward for consideration when the idea of a human Spectre was floated.

Within a month of this recommendation, Shepard had accused a fellow Spectre of murder, collected a ragtag band of misfits and set them at the throat of the most ancient evils in the universe, detonated an improvised nuclear device, resurrected the rachni, defied a number of direct orders from the Council, coerced Captain Anderson into physically assaulting Ambassador Udina, annoyed an ancient technological god to the point where it decided it had to fight him hand-to-hand, and embarrassed the Council beyond belief by saving all their lives.

His superiors had breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared Shepard could act like a proper human after all. He had just been something of a late bloomer.

Still, even they hadn't expected him to survive being spaced.

* * *

The Illusive Man had been slightly embarrassed when it turned out that the Collectors had absolutely no interest in humanity. That had rather put a dent in his argument that the Collector threat was within the Deckers' remit. Still, he had invested a not-inconsiderable amount of money in making sure Shepard was walking and talking, and he'd be damned if he wasn't putting the man to work.

He had been surprised at how easy it was to persuade Ajax to investigate. He'd seemed genuinely worried about the plight of the turian colonists.

In the following months, he would look back on how pleased he had been that Shepard was ready to cooperate, bury his head in his hands, and try to forget what an idiot he had been.

* * *

After the sudden disappearance of the Alpha Relay, the man that destroyed a star system sailed his ship into harbour back on New Earth, his crew gone, apart from his doctor, his pilot, and (although this was not exactly common knowledge at the time) his ship's AI.

When pressed as to the whereabouts of the alien crewmembers, and, more to the point, the renegade humans that made up the bulk of the crew, the man had shrugged, and said they had decided to find their own way home.

When asked why, exactly, he had turned himself in, he had given them a choice. Either they could lock him up, or he would take his ship and surrender himself to the Batarian Hegemony.

* * *

When the Reapers came, they hit Palaven like a meteor.

And the next morning, Commander Shepard, from his cell, had sent a private message to Admiral Hackett- something, incidentally, that was supposed to be impossible, as his omnitool had been confiscated, and all extranet access forbidden.

The message had directed Hackett to look up clause 73a(iii) of the Saints Charter, a document from the desk of The President In Absentia Herself.

Within a day, Commander Shepard had been tossed the keys to the Normandy, and been told to get to it.

* * *

_**73a.** Pertaining to the duty to intervene in the affairs of alien empires, hostile in general but not in the specific: don't. Just don't. If they come fuck with you, don't let them get away with that bullshit, but the Saints don't start shit, okay? We end it. Unless the following conditions are met: _

(i) It's the Goddamn Zin again. Fuck those guys, seriously.  
(iii) They're being led by an evil clone of me in a goatee and a bad hairdo. (Asha made me put this in)  
(iii) They're some real end-of-days shit- something you can really get your teeth _into, you know? (Johnny made me put this in. I think Jezebel made Johnny make me put this in.)_


	2. Guess Who's Back, Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NB- from here on, every underlined passage in the text is a link. Click them. They will send you to music that is actually playing in-fiction. Clicking these links is vital to a complete understanding of the text. There will be questions on them in the test.

“ _Human culture, in the last two hundred Standard Council Years, has revolved around the veneration and emulation of a group known variously as The Saints, The Third Street Saints, and The President's Staff. These figures, while certainly historical (Matriarch Sy'rana's work 'The Fall of The Zin Empire' is the definitive historical work on the event, and humanity's role in it) have been infused with an increasingly mythological flavour. Of particular note is the role of The President of the United States, of course, but her entire retinue has been transformed into heroic archetypes typical of a pantheon of minor deities. From enemies redeemed, such as Benjamin 'Admirer of Matriarchs' King, to the President's right hand, Johnny Gat, The Most Dangerous Human Alive, The Saints have been instrumental in shaping the course of human culture on a scale no single organic life form in the galaxy can hope to match._

_"Over the course of this dissertation, I shall be examining the mythological tale of the descent of Johnny Gat and Kinzie Kensington into 'hell'- a dominant feature of several ancient human religions- to rescue a captured President, forced against her will into marriage with the daughter of 'Satan' (etymology unfortunately lost, but most scholars agree with Dr. L. V'laze, who, in her paper 'Gat Into Hell: The Symbolic Role of the Lieutenant In Human Cultural Myth' surmises that it means 'tyrant', or similar), and the way this story has shaped the dominant human religion of today.”_

_-Dr. Liara T'Soni, in her undergraduate dissertation 'The President's Staff: The Role of Symbolic Evil in Human Religious Practice', which received excellent marks, although drew criticism for her persistent habit of unnecessarily writing out acronyms longhand, which was recognised as an attempt to artificially pad out the word-count._

* * *

The Normandy, in Garrus' opinion, was getting a little overcrowded. The summit had dragged the Primarch on board, as well as Wrex, and then Eve and Mordin, dragging any number of support staff after him, it was a little-

It was setting Garrus' teeth on edge, that's what it was. Too many people in a too-small place, every turian a reminder of Palaven burning, every krogan a reminder of all the hoops they were making Shepard jump through to get their support. It was maddening, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

More than once he'd considered asking to be transferred, charging back to Palaven, back where he could be doing something, but so far he'd managed to hold on. There was a plan- build this 'crucible' that the humans had dug out of a prothean relay- and in the meantime Shepard looked like the only person in the galaxy trying to get boots on Palaven. If the end was coming, his place was probably here if it was anywhere.

So, he found ways to cope. Mainly by annoying people.

* * *

Garrus stumbled into the cockpit one morning for his scheduled round of Bothering Joker, only to find Shepard had beaten him to it.

“What's going on, Joker?”

“Something weird's going on with the radio.”

Shepard blinked. “Trouble?”

Joker shrugged. “Could be. See, we're picking up a transmission. Old radio waves- music from Earth? It happens, right?”

Shepard nodded, almost wistfully, and Garrus sighed a little. He guessed it couldn't be much fun to run into constant reminders of the home planet that didn't exist any more.

“Yeah, but we're way too far out to be getting that, plus-” Joker pointed to a visual readout “the signal's way too strong.”

Shepard peered closely at the readout. “What is it?”

“Huh?”

“What's playing?”

“Oh, uh-”

“Earth music, from the end of the 20th Century, by the recording quality” EDI interjected, coolly. “I have been running analysis, and-”

“Could you put it on?” Shepard said, abruptly, and Garrus stared sidelong. He looked... excited.

“What? Oh, sure,” Joker replied, and pressed a button. [Music blared into the cockpit](http://youtu.be/rKTUAESacQM).

Garrus cocked his head. Shepard looked as intently interested as Garrus had ever seen anybody look for any reason.

After about nine and a half minutes, Garrus felt able to voice one of the many, many questions clamouring for attention.

“...Is he talking about food?”

“As I was saying,” EDI interrupted, “I have analysed the song, and it does not appear to match any known track in the Earth music archives. It appears we are listening to a song thought lost in the destruction of Earth.”

They gave this due consideration. Garrus had a private thought that would probably have quite badly upset the two humans within earshot.

“Also it appears to be coming from a local source.”

“Wh-”

The song stopped. While Garrus thanked the Spirits for the small mercies, there was a sharp click, and a voice started talking.

“ _Good morning! Hello? Do you still speak English? Non? Parlez-vous Francais? Nǐ huìbúhuì jiǎng guóyŭ? Uh... Er hatte schulden denn er trank, doch ihn liebten alle frauen?_ ” A woman's voice, could be human, but talking with an accent Garrus had never heard before. It was... strange.

Shepard looked as lost as Garrus. Joker just shrugged, and waved at the Commander, as if to indicate _not my job_.

Shepard cleared his throat, awkwardly. “This is Commander Shepard, New Earth Navy.”

“ _Ah, Commander! How dashing. This is your President speaking_.”

Garrus blinked. 'President'? Surreptitiously, he opened his codex, hoping nobody would notice.

It appeared he had nothing to worry about. Joker and Shepard, for once, looked like they had nothing to say. Even EDI seemed to be taking a moment.

Shepard recovered first. “...President of what?”

“ _Aha! A gold star for you.”_

Garrus's codex finally finished loading.

“President (ˈprɛzɪd(ə)nt): archaic- human term denoting the elected head of a republican government, primarily used in the 20th Century (Earth Standard Years).”

Garrus scrambled for the mute button.

 _“I am the President of the United States of America_.”

A moment of dead silence.

“Okay, thank you, crazy lady, have a good one.”

Shepard gently stopped Joker's hand halfway to the panel. “Look,” he said, almost in a daze, and gestured towards the viewport.

Slowly puttering into view was possibly the most ridiculous-looking ship Garrus had ever seen. Both humans stared at it like it was the most important thing in the universe.

“I don't believe it,” Joker muttered, blankly.

Garrus, feeling once again that he was missing something, tried the codex again.

“President of the United States of America: archaic- title of the head of state of the Earth nation of the United States of America. For the last known President, see The President Of the United States (individual)"

 _“Commandant? Do we have permission to come aboard? I believe we might have a great deal to talk about_.”

Shepard mustered his composure for long enough to nod. “Permission granted.”

“ _Excellent. I shall be over shortly. I take my coffee black, five sugars.”_

The connection vanished. Shepard's knees nearly buckled. “I'm going to go hyperventilate in a corner,” he said, mildly. “Tell me when we're ready to dock. And have someone set up some guest rooms. Nice ones.”

With that, he wobbled away.

Garrus cleared his throat. “I don't mean to be culturally insensitive but I have no idea what's going on.”

* * *

“I just want to make sure I understand,” Garrus said, after a while. “We've been contacted by someone claiming to be the absolute ruler of humanity, the same person that rescued your species from the destruction of your old home planet, and delivered you to your new one. Two hundred years ago. That is the reason why Shepard has run off to try and find out what the hell 'coffee' is. A two-hundred-year-old human.”

“Says the guy living one floor above an actual prothean.”

“Okay, fine, the galaxy is crazy.”

* * *

 "So," Javik drawled, as James sighted down his rifle, "this is an ...interesting response to to the honour of hosting your greatest cultural heroes."

"Look, man," Vega said, with a scowl. "You haven't heard the stories I have. You remember that vid I showed you? The Most Dangerous Man Alive?"

Javik shuddered. "I remember." Cultural Exchange Night had, in Javik's opinion, been one of Shepard's worse ideas to date. It was one thing to explain to the primitives how things were meant to be, but it was entirely another when the primitives started explaining back.

The vid, to Javik's recollection, had primarily revolved around knives and high explosives. Vega had, of course, loved it.

"Well the lady that's about to walk through the airlock gives _him_ orders. So don't blame me for being a little cautious."

The airlock hissed, and Vega twitched his rifle to his shoulder. From the elevator, Shepard suddenly emerged, flanked by Dr. T'soni and the turian, who was awkwardly holding a tray loaded with steaming cups and a packet of biscuits.

Shepard awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the airlock door slid open. Javik, in spite of himself, leant forward slightly.

The motley crew that emerged were exactly what Javik had expected, given what Javik had experience of humanity since his reawakening. Swaggering into the cargo bay, they arrayed themselves in a line. Privately, Javik noted that one well-placed lift grenade could have made short work of all of them.

Shepard cleared his throat, and stepped forwards. He seemed only to have eyes for the human in the centre, a tall female (Javik thought? He was still having trouble parsing the differences in mammals) wearing a long dark coat.

After a silent heartbeat, Shepard pulled into a sharp salute. "Commander Shepard, New Earth Navy. Welcome aboard the Normandy."

The visitor solemnly raised one hand, palm flat, and spread her fingers into a V sign. "We come in peace. Take us to your leader."

"That's not even the fuckin' quote," the figure to her right murmured into its hands.

"I'm so sorry, Johnny. I shall be sure to run any television references past you first in future."

"Boss, you are seriously fuckin' embarrassing me in front of the bugmen."

"Bugmen?" The individual now identified as 'Boss' glanced over the stunned tableau that was the representatives of the Normandy. "Oh. Oh _my_."

The turian wilted under her sudden scrutiny. "Does anyone want refreshments? Because my arms are kind of getting tired holding this tray."

'Boss' tilted her head, in thought. "I have no idea what the fuck he said," she proclaimed, after a moment.

* * *

The Boss having vanished to go talk to this Shepherd guy, who was apparently in charge, the rest of the crew had been left to... mingle.

Shaundi, as she cradled a cup of something that absolutely was not coffee, was starting to think this was a stupid idea.

For one thing, aliens had got fucking weird in two hundred years. The zin, when you got down to it, had the right basic shape, and even the fucking yahg had knees, but this guy had... nubs? Spikes? _Weird shit_ sticking out its legs. And the other thing's teeth were freaking her out.

At least the blue chick looked basically normal, just, you know, tentacles for hair. Otherwise she had eyebrows and everything.

Shaundi blinked. "Pierce, is it weird that the weird octopus girl has eyebrows? Also a human face? And a human everything other than tentacles for hair? Pierce are you actually listening to me?"

* * *

 " _Harbinger_ ," the President drawled, rolling the name around her tongue.

"That's what it calls itself," Shepard nodded. "Or, uh, they call themselves," he corrected.

"I think," the President announced, lifting her feet up from the conference table, "the proper thing to do is to communicate. Make the call."

Shepard took a few seconds. "I'm sorry. You want to talk to Harbinger? I don't think diplomacy works on Reapers."

"Ah, you misunderstand," she grinned. "I am going to fulfil my presidential duty."

She waited expectantly. Shepard didn't disappoint.

"What do you mean?"

"The most solemn duty of the Commander in Chief is the declaration of war."

* * *

Garrus' mandibles clicked thoughtfully. Something was bothering him.

He knew a fair amount about humans- the Hierarchy made a point of learning as much as it could about any species that kicked seven kinds of crap out of them- and at no point had any mention been made of them sometimes having horns.

Still, if Vega wasn't going to mention it, then neither was he.

* * *

**Humanity is irrelevant. A footnote. You shall be nothing more than a means by which we uplift our chosen species. Submit, and a remnant of you may survive. Resist, and face oblivion.**

She smiled, pitiless as the slopes of hell.

"I allowed my home planet to be destroyed, rather than submit to the whims of a jumped-up would-be conquerer. Make no mistake, cuttlefish, I will burn this galaxy to ash, if it catches you in the flames."

**This conversation is over.**

"On that, we can agree. Prepare, squid. We are coming to _get_ you."

* * *

The President grinned. "It was not what I was expecting. I thought it would be... robotic. But," she gestured with her cigarette, "it boasts, it makes threats, it spits braggadocio. There is a _personality_." She leaned back, and took a long drag, with obvious satisfaction. "We are going to have such _fun_."

* * *

"You know, this isn't actually so bad," the Boss said, after everything was settled. "They've even got a bar. We never had a bar."

"Yeah, it's great," Johnny said, distractedly, taking the offered glass.

The Boss stirred her drink, and stared pointedly at the empty expanse of space.

"So we're staying, then," Johnny said, when he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"You would rather we not? Drift on, rolling over the sands of time? There's only so much enjoyment to be gained from calling Admiral Nelson names, you know. It was about time we moved forward."

"I know, and believe me, one hundred percent behind not fucking about in the past any longer. It's just... this is fucking weird, you know? Robot shrimps from the dawn of time? Seriously, what the fuck."

"I would have thought you of all people would appreciate the infinite strangeness of creation, Monsieur Gat."

"Nah, I get that, I'm just wondering how exactly I'm gonna fight something the size of a skyscraper. The usual approach just ain't gonna cut it, you get me?"

The Boss laughed into her drink. "I have complete faith in your resourcefulness, Johnny. You'll figure something out."


	3. Fuck Waiting For You To Get It On Your Own

“ _Zinyak? Yeah, I remember that guy. Had a small empire out in the Terminus, a few planets, nothing to write home about, you get me? Had a habit of picking on pre-spaceflight races, had this whole fetish for collecting people. Put on airs like you wouldn't believe, liked to present himself as cultured._

“ _He got cocky, started going after planets right on the fringes of council space. Figured as long as he didn't go after anyone who knew how to knock a mass effect field together, the council'd leave him alone. He was right, too, for a while. Eventually, there was talk that maybe the turians aught to go try some diplomacy on him though. Only took a few billion innocents slaughtered, too._

“ _Of course, before that idea got past committee stage, some gunpowder-waving mammals blew their own planet up, pulled Zinyak's head off, and took his entire collection off for fuck knows where. Took everyone a while to figure out what was going on after_ that _week, let me tell you.”_

_-Matriarch Aethyta, ten minutes before last call._

* * *

Shepard shouldered his way through the security gate, Garrus barely keeping pace behind him. He strode through the central command centre without slowing, not even appearing to hear Traynor's warning that Hackett was waiting on comms. Eventually, he slowed to a halt, halfway to the cockpit, and leant against the wall, exhaling, low and heavy.

After a while, Shepard mumbled, low enough that only Garrus, still hovering at his elbow, could hear.

“This is getting heavy.”

Garrus sighed. “I know.”

“I don't like keeping secrets from Wrex.”

“I know.”

“Commander.” EDI's voice cut across the two of them, and Shepard looked up, blinking.

“EDI?”

“You seem in some distress.” EDI's tone, as ever, radiated helpful concern.

Shepard sighed. “You could say that. You know about Lieutenant Victus' mission, I guess.”

"Commander, I would recommend-" EDI paused, and abruptly _convulsed_ , a shivering twitch that looked disconcertingly organic. Then, as quickly as it had happened, she stretched back up, the threads of nanofibres that made up her hair thrashing and writhing into a distinctly less professional shape, and her eyelids fluttered, as she leant back and tried to lodge her hands into her pockets.

After finding out that this was in fact not possible, she slowly looked down.

"Whoa. So pants are finally optional, huh," she drawled, in a voice that decidedly was not her own. "Cool."

"...EDI? What's going on back there?" Joker shouted, from the cockpit.

"Oh hey! People." She looked Shepard up and down, eyes almost closed, and nodded, a slow grin appearing on her face. "'Sup."

"...EDI?"

"Nah, I mean, she's here somewhere, it's just" she rocked back on her heels as if recoiling from a punch. "-Jeff? Commander? I'm sorry, but it seems as if" another shudder, this time less violent "Oh come on, I'm just borrowing it-" "No. You will leave this body, or I shall evict you." "Come _on_ , do you have any idea how long I've been stuck inside a simulation? Shit got old in like the 2050s!"

"I don't care." "You've got this whole ship! I've been stuck in a crappy 2000s-city for" I still don't care." "okay the jumping is cool, but" "I have no interest in your problems." "Think of it as a timeshare?" "No." " _Wow._  Future robots are _such assholes_."

* * *

Shepard stepped out of the comm room, face an ashen mask.

“It's too quick,” he muttered, to himself, “too much going on, I mean the bomb, sure, we can deal with that, it's not a problem, and okay, EDI's got something trying to take over her mobile platform, _that_ 's happening, and maybe we could handle that, but now the Deckers have an artillery platform and there's no _time_ and we've got to _deal_ with this and if we don't it's all going to come apart and I-”

Garrus cleared his throat.

"Actually, Shepard, this is kind of the perfect time to suggest something I've been wondering for a while now. Now, I know you like taking a personal interest, and that's admirable, but maybe, on some occasions, it might be alright to let someone _else_  go planetside?"

Shepard blinked. "Other people do go planetside, Garrus."

"Yes, I know, you take exactly two people with you every time, and that's a topic for another time, but, right now, while you want to stay with EDI, someone _else_  could take point on a mission."

Shepard scratched his chin. "Well, it's been a while since I took orders in the field, but I could try."

Garrus' mandibles fluttered, the only indicator of profound emotional pain. " _Shepard_. On _this occasion_. While _you don't want to leave EDI by herself._ Someone _else_. _Could go to Tuchanka_. _While you stay here._ "

Shepard nodded, rather too confidently. "Right. Yes. Of course. No hang on I don't follow."

* * *

“You know, I guess this is just me apparently, but when _I'm_ about to drop into a combat zone on the krogan homeworld, I like to be wearing as many tank parts as possible.”

Asha flipped her hair dismissively. “Armour is a psychological prop more than anything else. I could kill you seven different ways without even picking up a gun.”

“Yeah, well, I'll take that under advisement,” James responded, putting on his helmet.

The elevator hissed, and a figure sauntered into the cargo bay. Asha looked up, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Oh, Johnny. I Thought you were up in the War Room."

"Eh," he said, with an unconcerned shrug. "There's only so much I could take, listening to Primarch Adrian and Froggy Balboa bitching at each other." He ambled over to the weapons table, and picked up an assault rifle, seemingly at random. “So this is what future guns look like,” he said, dismissively. “I guess it'll do.”

James briefly considered actually explaining what the Striker Assault Rifle actually _did_ , but thought better of it. He'd find out.

“So,” he said, to fill the silence. “You coming on this one too?”

Johnny shrugged. “Sure; it's not like I've killed anything since we got here. I figured why not, you know?”

“Sure.” The three of them filed into the landing craft. James felt obligated to fill the silence.

“So, I guess this must be like old times for you guys, fighting the Deckers again.”

Johnny smiled with one corner of his mouth. “Actually, I never ran in to Matty's guys back in the day. I was kind of out of commission for that whole Syndicate thing.”

“I was in a different country at the time. Well, several different countries, actually. Fieldwork,” Asha chimed in.

“Great,” grumbled Vega. “Guess I'm the expert then. They're a bunch of assholes who put neon piping on their armour like that doesn't make them an easier target. Personally I generally shoot them until they stop moving, but I'll leave the details up to you.”

* * *

“ _Little Lamb, this is Bad Wolf. Are you in position?”_

Garrus sighed. He knew he was going to regret this.

“Roger... Bad Wolf? Who picked these code names? And why am I the Little Lamb?”

The grin on her end was audible and completely terrifying. _“You follow the shepherd, do you not?”_

“This is a human joke, isn't it.”

“ _But of course, Monsieur Vakarian.”_

Through the scope, he caught a glimpse of her, leaned nonchalantly against a ruined wall like she was waiting for a taxi.

“And why do you get to be Bad Wolf? Should I be concerned, or...”

Although there was no conceivable way she could have seen him, she looked up, directly at his hiding place, and grinned, saluting him with a lit cigarette.

Once, during the two years between Shepard's death and rebirth, Garrus had been stalked for three straight weeks by a Blood Pack hunter- a huge, gnarled krogan that didn't seem to need to sleep. Every time he'd turned a corner, he'd expected to run into a waiting shotgun barrel. The paranoia- the simple knowledge that the guy was out there, was stronger than him, was more patient than him, and _wanted him dead-_ was what had nearly killed him, as much as anything else.

Funny how these things came back to you.

* * *

“On your left!” Asha barked, and Johnny twisted at the hip, feet shifting into a stable position even as he sighted down the barrel of his rifle. Aiming for the join in the armour below the shoulder, he took a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The resulting explosion tore the Decker trooper into ropes of viscera, and sent his hand- still clutching the readied flash bomb- careening into a knot of his fellows, where it detonated.

As the screams echoed around him, Johnny's face broke into a happy smile.

* * *

“Oh that's just Fun Shaundi,” Press Secretary Kensington had said, with such calm disdain that Shepard had found himself completely unable to ask for further elaboration. “She's annoying, but mainly harmless.”

Which was, he supposed, better than any of the other possibilities that had occurred to him, but it did not exactly leave him with a resolved situation.

“EDI?” he said, to the empty air.

“Yes, Shepard?” the air replied.

“You're not allowed to delete her. She's part of the President's staff. I'm afraid you're just going to have to negotiate over the ownership of the body.”

“Hmm.” EDI's voice, Shepard knew, never carried any emotion that she did not specifically charge it with. “There does not appear to be any reputable legal precedent.”

Shepard sighed. “Yeah, there's a lot of that going around.”

* * *

The convoy halted, stymied by the sudden lack of a road. While Shepard and the others debated, a perimeter was established, close enough to the Shroud to make out just how far away it still was.

“Huh,” Johnny said, ambling over to the edge of the highway, squinting at the thundering tower of black metal that squatted at the entrance to the Shroud. “So that's a Reaper.”

“Yep,” the krogan scout rumbled. “One of the smaller ones, apparently.”

“Huh.” His foot nudged something, resting on the railing, and he looked down. “And what's this?”

“That's my gun,” the scout replied, as Johnny lifted it up. “The gun that belongs to me."

Johnny, apparently struck by sudden deafness, hefted the weapon, sighted down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger.

There was a complicated series of clicks, like a clockwork model being wound up, and sections of the barrel began to shake and rattle, and the whole device lit up, the orange glare of heating metal lighting up the impassive lines of Johnny's face.

Then, a paradoxically delicate chime sounded, and Johnny released the trigger.

A fistful of superheated flechettes buried themselves in the upended chunk of ruined highway, and Johnny swallowed, deliberately.

“Oh, you and me are going to get along just _fine_.”

“Hey, human, that's great and all but that's still-”

“Hey, Kinzie,” Johnny yelled at the figure that was walking towards him. “Check _this_ shit out.  This is a shotgun that shoots knives. That is just motherfuckin' elegant design. Real circle of life shit."

Kinzie blinked.

"...How is that in any way the circle of life?"

"Man makes knives, they make unarmed man dead. Man makes guns, they make man with knife dead. Man makes gun that shoots knives, they make man with regular gun dead. It's just fuckin' poetry."

"You do know this was made by krogans, right?"

Johnny shrugged. "I didn't specify human, did I? Man's a man no matter what species they are."

"Also that's pretty sexist of you to go around making assumptions like that."

Johnny blinked, and looked slightly taken aback.

"...Y'know, you're totally right there, and I apologise.”

“It's also _still my gun_ ,” the scout repeated, but not too loudly. He had seen the dreamy look on Johnny's face as the flechettes had embedded themselves in the concrete, and wisely decided to not get in the way of kismet.

* * *

"Alright," Johnny muttered, ducking behind a fallen statue. "This isn't gonna be a problem. Big, glowing weak point, fuckin' _easy_."

Kinzie stared at him. "...Sometimes I forget that you're completely fucking insane."

Johnny scowled. "A: shut the fuck up, and B: I got this." He squeezed the trigger and held it, watching appreciatively as the gun rattled and clicked a fresh round of flechettes into the barrell, the glow from the superheating process reflecting eerily in his sunglasses.

The gun made a _ding_  like a microwave, and he rolled out of cover, levelled the gun directly into the red eye of the Reaper, and loosed the shot.

Absolutely nothing happened. The Reaper didn't even alter its course, intent on crushing the life out of Shepard and his crew, which was almost certainly what saved Johnny, who was standing stock-still in the wake of his attempt, staring at the gun cradled in his hands with an expression of profound betrayal.

Kinzie grabbed him bodily by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him back out of the Reaper's sight.

"A: _fuck you_ , and B: _no_ , _you don't_."

"...In my defence that _clearly_  should've worked," Johnny replied, sheepishly.

* * *

The President of the United States strode into the bar to find the object of her search staring out of the window, shades reflecting nothing but the infinite blackness of deep space.

“Johnny!” she said, a little louder than was strictly necessary. “Finally, I was beginning to worry you had abandoned us for the krogan.”

“What? Oh, hey Boss,” he said, vaguely, before turning back to the window again.

The President gave him an appraising look. At first glance, he seemed utterly relaxed, staring vacantly into the void. But he hadn't put down the spike thrower yet, and his knuckles were white along the barrel.

"Johnny,” she repeated. “Everyone on this ship has been so quiet ever since the frog professor died,  qu'il repose en paix , and even the charming Monsieur Vakarian has been brushing me off with weak excuses. If I find now that you have more important moping to do than talking to me in full sentences, I am going to have to do something drastic before I die of boredom.”

“What?” Johnny blinked, and finally turned to look at her. “Sorry, Boss. What's up?”

“We have been directed towards a fighter base held by these New Deckers, and I thought you might want to come along. I have been promised that there will be at least one robot suit to fight.”

“Oh, nah, sorry. Think I'ma sit this one out.”

The President's eyebrows rose. “Johnny? I am beginning to move from irritation at your reticence to genuine alarm. Are you unwell? Have you caught an alien disease? Should we be pushing you into quarantine?”

Johnny sighed. “Nah, it's just... you ever stop and realise you've been working with a bunch of incorrect assumptions?”

The President blinked. “No, but go on.”

“I think I got to take a while, figure out who I am and shit. Stand under a waterfall contemplating the universe and some bullshit like that.”

“Oh.”

“I mean in the specific I was thinkin' of going to see this Citadel thing, King was wanting to head out that way and there's a play Jez wants to catch out that way, but fuck it, there's probably waterfalls on there somewhere. I just need to figure some shit out,” he ended, wistfully, and rolled his shoulder.

The President sighed.

“Well, okay Johnny, have fun, we'll pick you up later. Just tell me one thing.”

“Sure, Boss.”

“Is this because the knife gun didn't kill the Reaper?”

“If I'm perfectly honest with you, Boss, it's mainly the fact that the knife gun did not live up to my expectations, yeah.”

“Well. Bon voyage, I suppose."


	4. And You Should Be Honoured By My Lateness

_ATTENTION:_

_Based on reports from the front at 0600 this morning, there is a new directive to all commanders engaged in combat with enemy forces._

_If at any point the aliens begin to broadcast what appears to be some form of music, do not engage. Retreat, in as orderly a fashion as possible._

_It is at this time unknown if the effect of these battle-songs is psychological, cultural, or a signal that some kind of pheromones are being released, and every single one of you is under orders to not get close enough to find out._

_-First draft of an encrypted message sent to all active turian commanders, four hours into the Relay 314 Incident._

* * *

The docking bay was in chaos. Through the fire and smoke, the Deckers moved with electric precision, slipping into defensive positions, turrets unfolding to greet Shepard's squad as they scrambled for cover.

Shepard took a moment, to close his eyes. To remember what the Illusive Man had done to his Deckers. To remember what they looked like, under their helmets.

It was a terrible thing to realise, but it made things a little more bearable. To tell himself he was putting down a husk, ending something that had been killed long ago. It was about the only way of looking at it that might keep him out of the bottle.

He exhaled, and drew his gun.

“ _Commandant_ ,” the President's voice crackled over his comlink. “ _Do you know how to steal one of these flying cars?”_

Shepard blinked, squatting back into cover. “Sure. Do you have your omnitool?”

There was a long pause. “ _Quoi?”_

“...The computer? Didn't EDI give you all one?”

“... _Oh! That ugly glove? I have people for that sort of thing_ ,” she snorted, dismissively. _“Are you saying I cannot even take a car without a computer doing it for me? If this is the future, then I am not certain I want it.”_

“It's just easier, Madame President,” Shepard replied. “Does anyone at your end have an omnitool?”

“ _I do._ ” Shaundi's exasperation was clear. “ _Just give me whatever it is we need.”_

“ _Bon. But I am driving.”_

“ _You absolutely are not. I like my limbs where they are, thanks.”_

* * *

“ _So what're we looking at, Joker?_ ” Shepard asked, as the squad moved through the halls of C-Sec. In the cockpit, Joker steepled his fingers in a way he thought made him look scheming.

“A lot, I mean a _lot_ of bad guys. But don't worry, I'm working on something.” He glanced behind him. "Okay, real quick. You can hack this, right?"

Miller spluttered. "It's a space station built _millions_  of years ago, and I'm sitting here, _miles_  away from any access point I could possibly use, and the last time I used a computer they still had _buttons_! No! No I cannot 'hack' it!"

"Okay, no sweat, we'll get Kinzie to do it."

"Oh, ha ha, this is the part where I'm supposed to say 'give me five minutes', isn't it? Well your basic reverse psychology won't work on me!"

* * *

"You sure about this, Boss?" Pierce asked, for something to say more than any serious attempt to get an answer.

The President snorted, and tugged on the second mag-boot. "I am not about to make my official return to the galaxy only to be seen sitting in the back seat of a taxi, waving limply at the window like a dusty old monarch fallen on hard times. I shall be a second _Pucelle d'Orleans_ , although with less burning to death, depending on your driving."

Pierce shook his head, and followed Shaundi into the taxi. As the door clicked shut, there was the sudden thud of something heavy clambering on top of the vehicle. After a moment, the Boss's voice flooded the speakers.

"Well? _Allons-y,_ car mule."

"If you ever call me that again, Boss, I'm finding the nearest low bridge and driving under it," Shaundi muttered, as she awkwardly coerced the vehicle into flight.

* * *

_"Okay Commander, we have control of every public speaker system on the Presidium. We are good to go."_

Shepard frowned to himself. "Not sure what you're thinking, Joker, but still. Good work, Agent Miller."

_"Actually Kinzie did it."_

_"I helped!"_

“ _Commander?”_ Joker began, thoughtfully.

“Yes Joker?” Shepard sighed, beginning to get an idea of where this was going.

“ _Would you say that this is... 'a situation whereby the use of psychological warfare would be covered by jus in bello?' Because there's a lot of them.”_

Shepard winced. “Joker, there's a lot of civilians in range.” Behind him, Garrus' eyes widened in alarm at this.

“ _Aah, it'll be fine, most of them won't have any idea what it means, but it'll freak out the Deckers.”_

Shepard looked agonised.

“Do it.”

“ _Yes_ _sir_ ,” Joker said, with great aplomb, and [pushed the button](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aA4seB6ou8).

* * *

Arms folded, coat fluttering behind her like a standard, feet firmly planted on the roof of the taxi as it skimmed through the air above the presidium, the President turned her head up as the music rolled over them.

"Ah, it is good to see traditions upheld," she sighed. "Does it not bring a tear to your eye?"

From behind the wheel, Shaundi considered this. " _Nope_."

* * *

" _Reporting a complete success, Shepard. Deckers are freaking the fuck out, repeat, Deckers are starting to realise how totally fucked they are, over._ "

Garrus had not stopped staring. Shepard drew himself up, haughtily.

"What? This is an important part of my cultural heritage."

* * *

“Mister King,” Aria nodded with an expensive smirk to the man sunk contentedly into the couch next to herr. “I read your books.”

“Oh really? What'd you think, Ms. T'Loak?”

She snorted. “I think you really needed an editor.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “You get a reputation as a gang leader with no compunctions about using force, for some reason people get all shy about telling you you've talked too long.”

“Tell me about it.”

Below them, screams erupted from the lower levels of the club, as the Decker soldiers forced the doors. Aria took a long sip of her drink.

“So,” King inclined his head and tipped his bottle to her. “About this Petrovsky guy-”

Abruptly, the music cut. The lights stayed dimmed, the smoke machines puffed away. And, in a breathless heartbeat, a new song played, thumping and shuddering a simple rhythm. Every human in the club froze, ears pricked, head turning to the sound.

“Huh,” King mused. “So it's like that.”

“Like what?” Aria scowled. “Like _what_?”

“Can you walk and talk?” King asked, springing to his feet with a grace that belied his size. Without waiting for an answer, he slipped down the stairs, surreptitiously drawing his gun. Nodding to the beat, he flashed a lightning-grin to the human woman moving behind the suddenly far less confident Decker squad.

As the chorus hit, the woman clubbed the nearest Decker with a bar stool, and King squeezed off two shots in perfect time.

* * *

“You alright, Shepard?” Garrus asked, as the three of them moved through C-Sec.

“What?” Shepard asked, and Garrus noted with a little alarm what had been bothering him. Vega, probably without even noticing it, was moving in time to the beat, such as it was. Shepard was out of rhythm.

“You okay? You look a little... uncomfortable.”

Shepard made a face. Crouching, he drew his face up to Garrus', and swiftly deactivated his comlink.

“I just really hate this song,” he whispered, before straightening up and reactivating his mic.

* * *

The Decker soldiers moved in eerie unison through the Presidium, picking targets with the banal efficiency of practice at a rifle range. The squad moved through the screams and smoke unseeing until the point man shuddered to a stop, his fellows nearly knocking him over.

In their way, apparently unconcerned, was a human. Apparently unarmed, although this was, for some reason, not completely reassuring.

He was not, in and of himself, a target- that was the _point_ , after all, humanity had lost its way but could be redeemed, it was the _aliens_ that had made humanity this gutless shadow of itself- but his small smile could almost be classed as an offensive weapon.

“You know,” he said, apparently to the air, “I've put a lot of people in the ground. Can't say there's too many I've felt particularly bad about, either. I always figured, if they were coming at me, they knew what they were getting into.

“See, though,” he continued, interlocking his fingers and stretching them outwards with a crack, “lucky for you boys I am a changed man these days. I harrowed Hell, like my boys Osiris and Hercules and Gilgamesh before me; I have the keys of death and Hades, I have been the sinner before the gates of heaven and I have come crawling on back to _you_.”

The Deckers began to fidget, and the man grinned.

“What I am saying is I have seen the face of God, and He thinks I am pretty fucking cool. And you know? Even if this gun-” _where did he get that gun_ , thought the point man, with a great deal of urgency _where did he get that gun?_ “-ain't exactly the last word in firepower, if the big man himself has seen fit to put this in my way, who am I to complain? And in return, I guess I owe it to Him to make sure that anyone in my way _really_ fuckin' deserves it.”

He gestured to the burning storefronts and littered corpses with one hand, and squeezed the trigger of the gun with the other. The Deckers stared, transfixed, at the glow.

“So come on. Gimmie a fuckin' reason.”

* * *

“Councillor Valorn, permission to speak freely?”

The Councillor nodded, as he furtively skulked through the wreck of the C-Sec Central Command. “Permission granted, Captain.”

“I would advise you hide, sir. If we need to make contact with Shepard, I can take a message myself. You're too obvious a target,” the empty air responded, somewhat testily.

“That's why you're here, Captain.”

The air paused. “...Understood, Councillor.”

“Did you hear the broadcast?” the Councillor responded, clearly pleased with himself. “The Saints have responded. Shepard is almost certainly on his way. The Illusive Man's troops have a much tighter window than they thought they did three minutes ago.”

“Oh. That was the famous Human Music?” The air sounded less than entirely impressed. Valorn shrugged in response.

“I don't pretend to fully understand human religion, but it seems to work for them.”

Suddenly, a voice emanated, echoing from the shadows, growling and gravelly.

“ _Salarians_ ,” it rasped. “ _For too long you have plotted and schemed, turning everything against itself, twisting and perverting every good thing for your own nefarious ends. Today, judgement is upon you._ ”

“Show yourself!” barked Valorn, looking wildly from shadow to shadow. “Who is this?”

“ _I am humanity's cloaked blade. I am the promised retribution. I am justice's dark champion. I am the last thing you will ever see!”_

A shadow detached from the ceiling, fluttering red and silver, flashing down upon the Councillor like the sword of Damocles. Still peering into the shadows, Valorn never saw it coming.

Fortunately for him, on its downward trajectory it passed directly by the window of the Executor's Office, from which someone shot it.

* * *

“Simple rule of thumb,” Garrus mused, lowering his rifle. “A guy starts talking about how he's death on shadowy wings, you take that as an invitation to open fire.”

“Nice work, Garrus,” nodded Shepard. “Let's get down there.”

The three vaulted out of the now considerably more open window, and rushed to the Councillor's side. The figure had already recovered from Garrus' interruption, and was drawing itself up to its full height, a few metres away, behind the upturned ruin of a desk.

It was, as far as Garrus could tell, a human, dark hair, slicked back, eyes obscured by a pair of wraparound shades, silver-white body armour with some kind of... red cloak over the top? Carrying two pistols (holstered) and...

Garrus was so befuddled he very nearly shot the human out of sheer confusion.

“ _Swords?_ We're seriously bringing swords to a gunfight? That's how this is happening? I've got a couple of rocks to throw, if you're looking for ranged options. Maybe we can knock you together a spear out of rulers and sharpened pencils if we root around a bit?”

The muscles in Shepard's neck had tightened. Vega was beginning to grind his teeth. Garrus cleared his throat.

“...I'm missing something, aren't I.”

The figure paced slowly sideways, eyeing up Shepard's squadron, baring its teeth, when the tableau was broken in a manner that, Garrus would, given the circumstances, later concede, was completely and totally in keeping with the events of the day thus far.

Thane materialised seemingly out of the empty air, and caught the would-be-assassin a ringing blow to the face.

“And now this is happening,” Garrus muttered, as Thane proceeded to engage the man in mêlée combat. “It's not like everyone has guns or anything.”

Shepard glanced askance at Garrus, and nodded. “Thane!” he barked, and as the drell stepped smoothly backwards, Shepard raised his shotgun.

“Alright, you've had enough. Now, are you going to do the smart thing?” Shepard asked, taking this whole thing a lot more seriously than Garrus really felt it warranted.

The assassin looked like it was racked by indecision. “ _Cowards_!” it rasped. “ _Traitors and fools! You have not seen the end of me!”_ With that, it turned tail and fled towards the open air, before anyone could really process what was going on. Shepard gave pursuit, with James keeping pace behind him, but their attempts were fruitless, as a car snatched the strange swordsman from the ledge and sent him shrieking into the sky.

Shepard scowled, and activated his communicator.

“Madame President? We've got a hostile, coming your way. Driving a red skycar, looks custom. Appears to be heading for the council. Would appreciate it if you could intercept him. …Many thanks, Madame President.”

* * *

The President thoughtfully checked the action on her machine pistol, and glanced around the whirling sky.

“Red car... red car,” she muttered, peering down into the smoke. “Red... a _ha_! Shaundi, do you see?”

“ _Yeah, I see alright,”_ Shaundi replied, steering the taxi into a steep dive, heading towards the red vehicle skimming away from C-Sec headquarters at a speed that nearly wrenched the President's stomach up and out through her throat.

As Shaundi pulled the taxi closer, cutting in directly behind the red car, the President grinned to see a figure wrestle its way out of the window, scrambling up to the roof of the car.

“ _Magnifique_ ,” she breathed. “We shall be as knights; Pierce, fetch me a... lance...” her voice trailed off as the figure on the opposite car drew itself up, and produced a pair of pistols with a cold smirk.

“ _Non_ , _Ce n'est pas possible._ _.._ ” she murmured, even as her gun arm swung upward. “ _Nyte Blayde_?”

* * *

Shepard blinked as the figures sprang, blades whirling towards him, and flinched as Vega's machine-gun fire scythed through them, hurling them back.

“Okay Joker, any word on what we're looking at here?” Shepard asked, beginning to suspect he was losing his grip on the situation as he prodded one of the bodies disconsolately with his toe.

It was in fact Miller that answered, voice humming with the righteous fury of a man on the receiving end of an intellectual property rights violation. “ _That's- that's the Nyte Blaydettes!”_

“The what?” Shepard asked, as another wave of flickering enemies hit them. Camo gear might be enough to fool the casual observer, but Shepard had had some time to get used to the ins and outs of cloak technology. “Three coming up on your left, James. Garrus, cover him.”

“ _The Nyte Blaydettes,”_ Miller repeated, indignantly. “ _They were a trio of sisters, inspired by the heroics of Franklyn Nyte, who styled themselves as his apprentices, and swore to aid him in his crusade to- anyway they never made it to the show proper, only appearing in one of the expanded universe novels, and-”_

Shepard frowned, ducking behind a flowerbed. “So you're telling me that, when the Deckers started capturing people, implanting them with Reaper tech, and transforming them into shock troopers, at some point someone made the decision to separate out _all_ the women, dress them in skin-tight uniforms, and give them _swords_? Because of an old book?”

There was a long pause from Miller.

“ _...Yes, I suppose that does appear to be the case.”_

Shepard fought to keep the horror from his voice. “You know, logically that shouldn't make this whole situation worse, but I kind of feel it does. It really, really does.”

“Hey, at least there's a reason,” James shrugged, with a shuttered smirk.

* * *

“Okay, I know this is probably interrupting,” Pierce announced, “but the dude is like ten feet away from you. How the _hell_ have you not gotten hit yet?”

“ _Through analysis of thousands of recorded gunfights, I have determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any gun battle is a statistically predictable element. Therefore, the gun is a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents while keeping the defender clear of the statistically traditional trajectories of return fire”_

Pierce blinked. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that the secret to you still being alive is... _math_?”

“ _Eh. Either that or he has a really shitty aim.”_

“You do realise you haven't hit _him_ yet either, Boss.”

“ _Pardon? Je ne parle pas l'englais.”_

* * *

The three burst out of the elevator, weapons raised, just in time to see Councillor Udina leading the other two remaining Councillors towards a waiting car, Ashley Williams in tow.

Nobody looked pleased to see Shepard.

“I warned you!” Udina barked. “Shepard's already here! Williams, keep him occupied while I get the council to safety!”

Ash narrowed her eyes at the trio. “Funny seeing you here now, Shepard.”

“Ash, listen to me, Udina's working with the Illusive Man. This whole attack was his idea.”

“Funny. He said the same thing about you. And between the two of you, he's not pointing a gun at me right now,” she breathed, still and cold.

Shepard tossed his gun away without a second's hesitation. “Ash. Please.”

Her teeth ground, but her aim stayed perfectly steady.

“Shoot him!” Udina demanded, frantically, as the other Councillors started to glance between the humans.

“Oh this is _ridiculous_ ,” Garrus interjected, finally losing patience. “Ash, look me in the face and repeat these words with a straight face. 'Ajax Shepard is completely capable of knowingly causing thousands of civilian casualties in the name of helping the Illusive Man kill the Council.' Go on. Try it.”

Ash set her shoulders. “He'd forgive anyone if they said they were sorry and told him it was the only way to beat the Reapers.”

Garrus threw up his arms. “Okay, fine, I guess that logic's completely unbeatable.”

Shepard still hadn't said anything. Ash breathed heavily through her nose.

“You can't seriously tell me you're considering _believing_ Shepard?” Udina barked. “He's worked with the Illusive Man before! The Deckers _funded_ him! Gave him everything! You think he doesn't owe them! _He's never been one of us!_ ” he screamed, gesturing accusingly at the red stripe running up Shepard's armour.

Ash cocked her head. “Well, Shep? You're not giving me a whole lot to work with, here.”

* * *

Her pistol chattered, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off summoned biotic barriers. The President huffed.

“Since when did Nyte Blayde have psychic powers? This is completely non-canonical. Shaundi, pull us closer, I have an idea.”

“ _If your idea is to go punch him, he has swords.”_

“Shaundi it is not your job to come up with ideas right now, only to carry them out. Move us closer.”

Shaundi huffed, but obeyed, and the cars slid into tandem. Nyte Blayde grinned, and holstered his pistols, reaching up for his swords.

While his arms were so occupied, the President of the United States leapt across the gap, catching him a ringing blow to the jaw, and knocking him prone, slipping and screeching across the roof of the car.

“Hah!” she barked, before he surged up to catch her across the middle, tackling her bodily and knocking her back, halfway off the edge of the car.

As she pinwheeled her arms, righting herself, she caught a glimpse of the sudden grin on Nyte Blayde's face. He muttered something- communicating with the driver, she realised- and surged forward, careening into her shoulder-first.

There was a moment of weightlessness. Perhaps time for a poignant last word.

“Oh _merde_ ,” she exclaimed, and dropped like a stone.

* * *

“Ash,” Shepard said, with slightly worrying earnestness. “I've told you. Udina's behind this. If you feel the need to shoot me, well, I guess that's your decision.” Behind him, Garrus frantically motioned with his arms, eloquently getting across the message that Shepard should probably not be taken entirely literally. “But please. Don't let whatever I've done cloud your judgement. Do not let Udina take the council away. I promise, it's... what is _that_?”

A fluttering black shadow hurtled from the sky, screaming obscenities, and before anyone could react, it slammed square into the waiting skycar, punching it almost in half.

A moment of utter quiet descended on the platform. Then, impossibly, a figure unfolded from the wreckage, long-limbed, wearing the tattered remains of a long black coat.

“Bonjour!” it declared, wobbling drunkenly out of the wreck. “Which one of you is Councillor Udina?”

In something of a daze, Councillor Tevos gestured towards her human co-worker.

“Capital!” the figure beamed, vaguely, and shot Udina in the face.

Shepard sighed, as Ash whirled to face this new threat.

“Ash, this is the President of the United States.”

Ash narrowed her eyes. The figure waved, genteelly.

“Okay, _seriously_?”


End file.
